


Dark Times

by ClaireScott



Category: Sons of Anarchy
Genre: BDSM, Break Up, Dom!Juice, F/M, Maledom/Femsub, Mild Smut, mentions of drug abuse, request, turned out to be heading to
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-05
Updated: 2016-06-30
Packaged: 2018-07-12 09:45:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7097413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClaireScott/pseuds/ClaireScott
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Request: So i was listening to dark times by sheeran and the weeknd, and i thought of juice. Maybe you could write about a messed up relationship with the reader?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> English is not my first language. I apologize for all the mistakes.

“... Gerald Hemery, spokesperson of the Charming Police Department, confirmed the discovery of four dead bodies at the side of a burning storage building in the east of Charming. One firefighter got injured during the firefighting operations. Gender, age and cause of dead are unknown yet. The Police Department announced a press conference in the evening ...”  
You turn the radio off, yawning, stretching. Getting out of bed at 5 a.m. has never been fun and never will be. You take a look to the other bedside – untouched. Juice isn’t here. Gone the whole night, like so damn often. Sighing you scuffle in the bathroom, doing your morning routine without thinking.  
Sitting on the toilet, staring a whole into the shower curtain you hear a noise at the front door, heavy footsteps, a bump and another one, and then Juice’s voice, slurring curses. He’s coming nearer and you jump off the toilet seat – you didn’t bother locking the door because you were alone. In the moment you have your panties on knee level the door opens and Juice stumbles in. He doesn’t notice your presence and you take a second to look at his miserable state. Bloody, beaten, drunk and most likely high. You smell weed and whiskey and his facial expression tells you that weed and whiskey weren’t his only vice that night.  
“Bathroom’s already taken, Juice. Good morning.” You say after your panties is there where it belongs.  
His erratic gaze runs over you and he smiles goofily. “Morning, baby. Missed me?”  
“Yeah, of course,” you scoff, rolling your eyes.  
“Watcha doin?”  
“I’m heading off to work in a few minutes. It’s 5:30 a.m. and I’ve got a double shift ahead.”  
“Uh, tragic,” he pouts, “I’m totally in the mood for heading to bed and being coddled by my baby.”  
“No. I’ve gotta go.” You say, trying to get out of the bathroom.  
He grabs your upper arm, holding you, nuzzling his nose in the crook of your neck.  
“Blow me, baby, please. I’ve missed you like crazy.”  
“Sure you have. I won’t blow you right now, Juice. I’m late for work if I do, and I’m absolutely afraid of getting overdosed when I swallow your cum.”  
He chuckles like you made the best joke he heard in a few days: “Then don’t swallow. I’m good with coming on your tits, too.”  
“What shit did you consume, Juice?”  
“Dunno. But enough to make me want you like crazy, right now, right here on the bathroom floor.”  
“You need to be drugged to want me like crazy? Go fuck yourself, Juice. You can take this compliment and stick it in your ass. Have a goddamn shower and vet yourself before sleeping off your drunk and all the other shit you’ve got in your system.”  
“Baby, please ...,” he moans lowly, nibbling at your ear, caressing your ass with his free hand.  
Just for a second you want to give in, surrender to his knowing touch, to him pressing the right buttons. He plays with your body like a pro, like he studied your reactions to every touch at a goddamn university, like he wrote a dissertation about “How to make Y/N so hot she forgets everything, just with a few touches in the right places.”  
But he’s bloody, drunk, drugged. He will fall asleep in the moment his cock spilled the last drop. No. Work’s waiting. Someone has to bring home the baking. You loosen his grip around your upper arm and leave the bathroom. Ortiz and his behavior aren’t fun anymore.

You’ve missed the bus at 7:30 p.m., so it’s 8:45 when you finally enter your apartment. You’re deadly exhausted, your feet hurting like hell and you’re so hungry you could eat a whole damn cow with a bathtub full of ketchup.  
“Juice?” You call in the silence of your home, already knowing that’s he’s not here.  
You eat two sandwiches and an apple, write a shopping list for the grocery store and decide not to call him or send him a message. After a stop in the bathroom you go into the bedroom, stopping short in the doorway.  
The bed’s a mess, the beddings and the sheets bloody – he didn’t vet himself up, he went to bed as he were. Bloody. You smell alcohol and weed in the sheets – while still standing in the doorway.  
“Oh, shit, you goddamn little asshole, Juice!” You curse, breaking into tears.  
You just wanted to lie down, rest, sleep. But now you have to change the sheets and the beddings which you do, sobbing, cursing, crying.  
You’re fed up to the back teeth with this shit. Stuffing the bloody material and Juice’s equally bloody clothes you found on the floor on his bedside in the washing machine you decide to pack your bags and leave. You’ll leave tomorrow. For sure. He was right when he said this wasn’t the right time for you to fall in love with him. He’s dark or maybe he’s living in dark times. You’re not sure anymore. Probably it’s both.  
At least you’re so exhausted that you fall asleep immediately, barely able to appreciate the wonderful odor of fresh linen. Exhausted enough not to care anymore, not to be upset. 

You wake up and feel for the light switch, the room’s pitch black. With a low “click” your bedside lamp lightens the room and you see Juice standing in the doorway, fresh blood on his face, his shirt stained with dried blood – with much blood. Very much. He looks like he’d work in a damn slaughterhouse.  
You clear you throat, pointing to his chest. He looks down like he hasn’t notice his appearance yet.  
“Not my blood,” he mumbles, shaking his head.  
“How consoling,” you scoff, “and let me tell you one thing: If you plan to join me in the bed like this I’ll go ballistic.”  
He grins and heads to the bathroom, while you turn the light off and try to go back to sleep. It’s 2 a.m., way too early to get up and have breakfast.  
“Thanks for waking me up, asshole,” you mumble in your pillow and close your eyes.  
The mattress sinks in, the lath floor squeaks as Juice joins you. For five seconds everything’s silent and peaceful. Then you hear him turn and feel his fingers on your skin. He slips under your shirt, caressing your belly.  
“I need you, baby,” he whispers at your ear, licking over the earlobe.  
“Juice, it’s in the middle of the night and I’m sleeping.”  
“No, you’re not. You feel my boner at your ass, wishing I would fill you up, thrusting balls-deep into you. I’ll make you come, promise. As often as you want me to, until you’re limp and totally spend. Remember the night I’ve made you come so often that you cried after I was done with you? You were so exhausted, so satisfied that you cried. It was beautiful, you know? I wanna do this again, playing with your body, making it mine.”  
“You’re drunk and maybe high. Back then you were sober.”  
“Doesn’t matter. I can’t be too drunk or too high to forget how to make your pussy quiver.”  
His hands roaming over your body, twisting your nipples, making you shiver. He’s kissing the soft spots on your neck while his left hand slips into your panties.  
“Juice,” you whisper to warn him, but he doesn’t give you a chance to do so.  
His right hand covers your mouth and he mumbles: “Shhh. Save your breath for later. Lemme do the work and the talking.”  
Your mouth opens as he presses his pointer finger at your lips. He sticks his finger into your mouth and you feel his breath at your ear, his boner pressing on your ass.  
“Suck, baby, suck my finger like it’s my cock.”  
You do, twirling your tongue around his fingertip, sucking, doing everything to please him.  
“That’s good, baby,” he whispers, massaging your clit, holding your bucking hips in a steel grip, using his leg to keep you steady.  
You’re close, damn close but he stops as he always does. He never allows you to come at the first try, he makes you wait. You pant, still sucking at his finger. A moan escapes your throat as two fingers slide into your pussy, fucking you just with his fingertips, slow, sloppy thrusts. You want more and you sigh as he finally gives in.  
“What the hell is that?” He asks as he feels either the string or the tampon itself. “A tampon? You’re bleeding?”  
“Yeah.”  
“Oh, shit,” he mumbles and your skin gets cold as he backs up.  
“Are you totally nuts?” You hiss, coming down from your high in milliseconds. “You come home covered in some other man’s blood but if I’m bleeding you’re all disgusted and sickened? God, you’re such an asshole! Not even your mother would love you anymore for this and presently she’s maybe the only one to love you.”  
“Don’t talk about my mother while I have a boner, Y/N,” he hisses, standing up. “You know what I’m like. I told you it wasn't the right time for you to fall in love with me.”  
“You’re drunk and high. Like nearly every day. I’ll leave in the morning.” You call as you hear Juice heading to the living room.  
Crying yourself to sleep is something you’ve gained outstanding skills over the last months and so you manage it again, just to wake up to gentle hands caressing your body.  
“I’m sorry. So sorry,” you hear his voice and you open your eyes to take a look at the alarm clock. 3:57 a.m. “So sorry. I’ll make up to you. Please. Don’t go. I was a shithead. I am a shithead. My times are so dark I can’t see the good things anymore.”  
He plays you like a pro, once more. You melt under his touch, sleepy and desperate as you are. He turns you around, kissing you, letting you taste the whiskey on his tongue. After ending the kiss he gently leads you down, southwards. He’s already naked and so it lasts only a minute until you have his cock in your mouth. You blow him until he starts panting, thrusting into your mouth, his hands fisted in your hair. Then you withdraw.  
“I want you to fuck me, baby,” you whisper and he groans.  
“Go on, go on, don’t stop. I’m close, Y/N,” he answers, fisting his cock to lead it back into your mouth.  
“You’re a liar. You promised to make up to me.”  
He uses the opportunity of your speech to slip his cock in your mouth again. You pull back, angrily, shoving him away.  
For a second all his silent, you’re able to hear his pressed panting.  
“So you leave me high and dry now?”  
“I do, asshole.” You answer and now it’s you who’s standing up.  
“We’re running in circles.”  
“Yeah. I’m sick of it. I’m out. Have a nice life, Juan. You’ll find another woman to deal with your shit.”  
“Where are you going?” He asks, turning on the light.  
“That’s none of your business. I like you. Very much. And I care about you. Call me when your times are bright again. Tonight, when you’re busy with club things like every damn night, I’ll pack my stuff and leave.”  
“Baby, please, I’m sorry. Listen, I ...,” he starts but you leave the bedroom and lock the bathroom door to get through your morning routine.  
A double shift is waiting for you. You’ll find a place to stay for a few nights in your lunch break and after this fucking double shift you pack your bags and move out.


	2. Back together

You hate to be alone, you’re not good on your own. You suffered two weeks and then you hooked up with the next guy showing interest in you. You know he’s a jerk but even this is better than being by yourself. The three months since you broke up with Juice are the darkest times you’ve underwent in your whole life. Daniel, the new guy in your life, isn’t really interested in you. He searches a woman for household chores and for keeping his cock nice and warm at night. The sex is boring and somehow annoying, more like a “lie back and think of England”-thing than the fun you used to have with Juice – when he was sober.  
“Hi, Daniel,” you greet stepping in your new apartment he already moved in – two weeks after fucking you for the first time. “Daniel?” You ask as no one answers.  
A pet name like the many you’ve had for Juice won’t come over your lips, you just can’t. You can’t be gentle with him, you can’t be indulgent or caring. He’s just too annoying, one of the wrong decisions you come to during an active love life.  
“He’s gone,” a familiar voice says as you enter the kitchen.  
“Juice! What the hell!” You say looking dumbfounded on the man sitting on your kitchen table.  
“Hey, baby. Nice to see you.”  
“Are you kidding me? What are you doing here? Where’s Daniel?”  
“He’s gone. Forever. Packed his stuff and left.”  
You stare at him with your mouth wide open, speechless of disbelieve.  
“What did you do to him?” You say because you have the feeling that’s what the world would expect.  
But deep in you, you know that you give a fuck about what happened to Daniel. You owe Juice a favor for kicking this dumbass out.  
“I gave him my level 100 goblin in World of Warcraft.”  
“What?”  
“Yeah. Payment. Now you belong to me. Again.”  
“WHAT? ARE YOU HIGH, ORTIZ?” You yell at him, his smirk doing nothing to ease you.  
He mocks you, this asshole. But he’s getting serious again, in a heartbeat.  
“No. I’m sober. And I’ll stay sober. Subject to some condition. Sit. We’ll talk.”  
Completely beaten you take a seat at the kitchen table, watching Juice pouring you a cup of coffee. Adding milk in the perfect amount.  
“Drink.”  
“What’s that going to be? A coffee party?”  
“No. An earnest conversation.” He states calmly. “Just listen and answer my questions.”  
You nod, making a summoning gesture.  
“I’m sorry for my breakdown. I treated you like shit and I’m sorry that I hurt you, took advantage from you and all the other horrible things that stood between us.”  
Taking a sip of your coffee you just wait.  
“I’m sober for two and a half months now. No drugs.”  
“Congrats, Juice,” you answer, meaning it.  
His hand reaches over the table, he intertwines his fingers with yours.  
“Did you miss me? Be honest.”  
For a few seconds the room is silent and you lock your gaze with his, before you nod: “Yeah. I miss you, Juice.”  
“I want us back together. Give us a chance, Y/N.”  
You clear your throat and ask: “You said something about you’ll stay sober subject to some condition. Explain me.”  
“Okay,” Juice takes a deep breath and gives you a small smile, before continuing. “There are three things in life that I love. Booze, being high and to have control. If I don’t drink anymore, if I’m not high anymore I need control.”  
“What’s that supposed to mean?” You ask, frowning.  
“Remember last Christmas?”  
“Yeah, I do.”  
He nods and stands up, stepping behind your chair, placing his hands on your shoulders. He bends down, bringing his mouth at your ear, his warm breath on your skin, his familiar odor making you shiver.  
“What did we do last Christmas? And I’m not referring to the daytime.”  
“We had sex.”  
“Right. Remember the details, baby?”  
“Yeah,” you answer, blushing.  
God, it has been the night of your life but you’re too ashamed to admit.  
“Tell me,” he whispers, “what did I do?”  
“Juice ...”  
“Tell me, come on. I was there, it’s nothing new to me. Just tell me.”  
“Oh, god ...,” you whisper, staring on your thighs, feeling his breath on your neck. “You tied me up and made me cum ... I don’t know ... it felt like a hundred times.”  
“What else? There were a few new things you discovered that night, am I right?”  
His hands on your shoulders holding you, backing you.  
You nod and your voice is hushed as you answer, with closed eyes: “You ..., Juice, I ... oh, my fucking god ... your fist.”  
“Yeah. Fuck, that was amazing, right? You came so hard you nearly passed out. I was so proud of you, little one. What else?”  
“You took my ass for the very first time.” You whisper, blushing.  
“And you liked it.”  
“Yes.”  
“Did this jerk fuck your ass?” Juice whispers, the grip on your shoulders getting tighter.  
“No.”  
“Good. Your ass is mine. You are mine. I need control, do you understand? If I can’t drink or drug this desire to sleep, I need control. If you want me to stay sober you have to give me control. I call the shots.”  
“Can I ... think about it?”  
“Yeah, of course,” he answers, placing a kiss on the top of your head. “And you can always back out. You know how these kinds of relationships work. You’re not stupid.”  
He takes a seat again, drinking his coffee, watching you closely.  
Your head is spinning, thoughts about the future mixing with memories of this particular night and how very, very much you enjoyed giving yourself to him.  
“Okay,” you whisper after five silent minutes, feeling a lot easier. Juice is back and he still wants you, in a way you dreamed secretly about.  
It’s worth a try.  
“Thank you, baby. I’m gonna make it so damn good for you.”  
“I know,” you answer, looking at him for the first time in minutes. “I trust you.”


	3. Challenges

You had known that he can be very controlling but this what you live now is a whole new level. He increases the intensity slowly, making you accustomed to the things he demands right now and he’s going to demand in the future. You’re willing, you’re eager, so you learn your lessons fast. 

Right now you’re standing in the bedroom, facing the wall, balancing on your tiptoes, supporting your body only with your fingertips on the wall. A few seconds ago he inserted a vibrating egg in your pussy, caressing your spine with his free hand.  
“You lose the egg, we’ll start over, you come we’ll start over,” he whispers at your ear and slaps your ass softly with his bare hand. “Got it?”  
You nod, closing your eyes.  
“Just a nod isn’t enough, you know that.”  
“I got it, Juice,” you whisper and the vibration starts.  
He placed the egg perfectly, the stimulation of your g-spot will drive you insane in a few minutes. He built a scenario you’re only able to lose – at the first sight. You will lose the egg or you will come and he’s going to punish you for this. And start over again. At the end of the day no one’s the loser. You both get what you crave.  
Your breathing gets faster, heavier and you see Juice smirking.  
“Let’s have a talk,” he says casually, just as he’d met you on the street and suggested drinking a cup of coffee together to talk over the good old times.  
“Okay,” you manage, eyes closed, concentrated on the muscles in your pelvic and your calves that start to burn.  
“Do you like a little challenge?” He asks, intensifying your arousal by caressing your asshole.  
You feel lube and you know he’s going to fill up your ass. Moaning in anticipation you nearly forget to answer: “Yes, I do, Juice.”  
“Good. We talked a lot about obeying in the last weeks, right?”  
“Yes, we did.” Oh, god, this is killing you.  
Your pussy is dripping and your hips bucking involuntarily at his fingers, your body is so eager, you feel ashamed for yourself. But you can’t stop it. This is you, free of all the plain layers, the acquired decency.  
His left hand parts your pussy lips, his pointer finger flicks over your clit. You throw your head back, tensing your pelvic muscles to hold the egg, gritting your teeth in a nearly absurd, desperate try to hold back your orgasm. The constant burning in your calves, in your shoulders had taken a back seat.  
“What did I told you about two minutes ago?” He asks, softly rubbing circles around your clit, not touching it.  
“Don’t .... loose the ... oh, god! The egg. And don’t ... oh, fuck ... don’t come. Juice, please, so close, so close! Please!”  
“Please what? Permission to come?”  
“No. No, please ... stop ...” You can’t believe you beg a man to not make you come and this is such a fucking turn on you nearly lose it.  
“Hold it back, just a little longer,” he says, circling around your clit, massaging your asshole. “Just a little longer. That’s my good girl. Fight it, little one. Fight it. Make me proud. Show me how bad you want to obey me, how strong your desire to please me is. Mind beats body, right?”  
You claw your way along his words, trying to fade out the pleasure he gives you. You want this, you can do this. It’s not a catastrophe if you fail as he enjoys punishing you as much as you enjoy being punished and disciplined. But you want to see him proud, you want to hear him pleased.  
“Yes ...,” you pant, starting to sob because of the struggle.  
“You’re so close, right? And you’re such a good girl for me. But you’re so close, so damn close. And you’re still not allowed to come,” he whispers and you scream your frustration against the wall, your knees shaking, your arms shaking, the egg sliding slowly out of you. “Gonna lose the egg first or gonna come first?”  
“No-thing. None of .... both,” you pant, feeling tears on your cheeks, clenching your inner muscles to hold the egg in place.  
“Don’t think so. Want me to put the egg back in its initial place? You start losing it, baby,” he states. “I’ll help you by putting it back. But you’ll pay for my help.”  
“Please ...” you whimper, “please!”  
“Wanna hear my price?”  
“Yes ... Juice ... please!” You feel the egg sliding the next half of an inch down.  
God, you’ll lose it before he’s ready with the damn negotiation. It’s so much you have to fight with, you will consent in nearly everything you guess. But that’s the place he wants to have you. Manipulating you into everything that’s coming in his mind.  
“You’ll start with deep throat lessons. I’ll teach you.”  
“Okay ...” Everything, just ... please!  
But you don’t have enough breath or power to pronounce more words. The “okay” had been hard enough.  
He kisses your shoulder and you feel him shoving the egg back in place – instantly falling over the edge in the moment it’s back where it’s supposed to be. Your knees weaken and Juice supports you with his right arm, pressing you against his body to keep you on your feet.  
“Tsss ...,” Juice makes a disapproving sound, pressing his thumb on your clit, rubbing it harshly to intensify your orgasm. “Lost, baby. Greedy slut.”  
“I’m sorry, so sorry, Juice,” you sob after the waves of pleasure have ended, after the vibration in your pussy stopped.  
You collapse in his arms, your legs and arms hurting like hell, nearly passed out as he carries you to the bed. He lies down at your side, holding you, kissing your forehead, massaging your shoulder with one hand. Juice removes the egg out of your pussy, petting you, waiting for you to breathe normal again. Once you do he helps you sit up, handing you a bottle of water.  
“Drink,” he says, smiling.  
You do and he takes the bottle back, pointing at the wall: “Once more. We’ll start again.”  
“Please ... no, I can’t ... I just can’t,” you whisper and his grin widens.  
“Need a few minutes more?”  
“Yes, please, Juice.”  
“Okay, baby, come here. This was fucking intensive, right?” He takes you in his embrace again, pulling a blanket over your still trembling body.  
You nod, closing your eyes, enjoying the spent and satisfied feeling, the little angst of your upcoming punishment and the next round you’ll lose again, for sure.  
“Do you like a little challenge?” He asks once more and you mumble something approving.  
“Tonight,” he goes on, “we’ll join Jax’ birthday party at the clubhouse. Your behavior during the evening will set your punishment.”  
“Oh ...”  
“Mhm. You’ve got twenty on your card for disobeying. For tonight I want you to stay silent. That’s quite a challenge for you, right? You don’t talk. Every word that leaves your mouth adds a hit. If you reach 25 strikes over all, I’ll take the paddle. 30 – it’s the riding crop. 40 – I’m going to use the cane. Be sure I count thoroughly.”  
“That’s a challenge, yeah.”  
“I’m looking forward to the cane, baby,” he grins and you shake your head: “Tomorrow morning I’ll get 20 with your bare hand, not one blow more.”  
“We’ll see. You said something like this while standing on the wall. And you’ve lost.”  
“What if I talk like ... a thousand words?”  
“You won’t. Because you’re a good girl. And to make it a bit easier, one phrase is allowed.”  
“Which?”  
“I love you, Juice.”  
“That’ll make it a lot easier, yeah,” you laugh, “but I accept gladly. I can do this.”  
“We’ll see,” he grins and you know that you have no idea how challenging this evening will be actually. “So, time’s up. Face the wall, on your tiptoes, support yourself with your fingertips. This time you’re gonna wear a small plug in addition. Makes it a bit harder but you love a little challenge, don’t you?”  
You sigh, give him a quick kiss and get up, preparing for another round of sweet torture, ending in an overwhelming orgasm.


	4. Punishment

“That was impressive,” Juice grins on your way home. “Clever girl.”  
You give him a bright smile and he goes on: “But it was cheating, wasn’t it?”   
Fuck.   
“Maybe a bit?” You suggest, crumpling the piece of paper you carried the whole evening with you in the pocket of your sweat jacket.   
“Terribly hoarse, can’t speak,” you wrote on it, avoiding conversations and nosy questions in general.   
“More than a bit. So, I’m counting 20 plus 2 for the ‘thank you’ you said to Happy, plus 10 for cheating. You get off lightly, baby.”   
“So, I’m at 32, right?”  
He nods, smiling, squeezing your thigh: “Yeah. The riding crop is it.”  
“I have never been punished before,” you say, feeling just a little bit of fear, no, not fear, it’s more ... respect.   
“I know. I’ll go easy. Are you afraid?”  
“A little bit,” you say, knowing it kicks him.   
“So,” he says, “punishment rules. Do I have your full attention, baby?”  
“Of course.” You give him a smile, focusing then on his hands holding the steering wheel.   
“First: You go into confession. You tell me what you did wrong.”  
“Got it.”  
“Second: You beg for your punishment. Third: You can cry, scream, beg, whatever you need to do to cope with the pain, to convert the pain into lust and, first of all, learning. But you can’t be disrespectful. That’ll add more hits.”  
“Okay.”  
“Last but not least: You’ll thank me for disciplining you.”  
“That goes without saying, I guess.”  
Juice nods, grinning: “I hope so. If you are a good girl ... And to make it clear: Of course you can safeword out every time. Yellow, if you need a break – but use it wisely – red, if you want me to stop. Red doesn’t cancel the punishment. It’s just postponed. Understood?”  
“Yeah. Thanks for the explanation.”  
“I’m looking forward to see you cry, honey.”   
“What do you like about punishments, Juice?” You ask and he clears his throat, turning left in the street you live in.   
“Obviously, power and control. When you let me punish you, it’s an act of devotion, trust and submission. You want to please, to earn my forgiveness. You’re a grown-up woman with a life, letting me discipline you like you have no choice. The craving for being a good girl, for being perfect for me, your willingness to subordinate my will. And all that is a great, great turn on.”  
“So, you’re gonna fuck me afterwards?” You ask and his grin gets even bigger: “You serve me afterwards, like every good girl does.”  
“I guess, if I can cope with pain, being punished could be my new favorite hobby,” you state, making Juice chuckle.   
“We’ll see in a few minutes.”  
The car stops and you open the door, hopping outside, heading straight to the bedroom. 

Juice gets rid of his kutte, and takes a seat on the edge of the bed. You’re standing in the middle of the room, not knowing what to do exactly. The atmosphere has changed, in the blink of an eye. Juice is all disappointed and displeased, his facial expression is stern, expectant and severe. You step in front of him, arms crossed behind your back, your gaze on your shoes.   
“Yeah?” Juice asks, and you see his finger pointing on the floor.   
You get the hint, sinking on your knees, feeling the arousal growing with every second. Your pussy tingles in anticipation, your inner muscles clenching like they would expect a cock in a few seconds.   
“I tried to be a good girl,” you whisper, “but I failed. I had an orgasm without having permission to come. I disobeyed by speaking with Happy. And I cheated at the challenge you gave me.”  
“And?” He lifts his eyebrow, watching you kind of bored, which makes you feel insecure and unsatisfactory.   
“I’ve earned punishment and I beg you to discipline me, in a way that’s appropriate for my misdoing. I need to be taught a lesson. Please, Juice, discipline me.”   
“Uh, I like that,” Juice smiles, “You’re a truly natural. Then the harsh, severe tone is back: “Get up, strip.”   
After you’re naked you’re told to face the wall, which you do. Juice’s hands caressing your body, slipping between your legs.   
“So wet already,” he whispers, “begging for being disciplined makes my little one all hot and bothered, right?”  
“Yes,” you sigh, trying to lean into his touch.  
“What are the words to make me stop?”  
“Yellow, if I need a break, red to stop you completely.”   
“Right. I’m warming up your skin first. That’s not counting for the punishment. I’ll tell you when it starts.”  
“Okay.”  
“I wanna see tears, little, wanna hear you sob and pleading for forgiveness.”   
You nod and take a deep breath as the first slap of his hand hits your skin. He’s spreading slight pain and warmth all over your bottom. Your pussy is tizzy, nearly dripping of horniness.   
“Now we start,” he announces and the first slap with the riding crop burns on your skin.   
It’s not too bad, you can manage this. After the tenth stroke you change your mind – he stopped being more or less gently and now you have to work to ... cope with the pain. Loud moans escape your throat and you body trembles, trying to avoid the crop.   
But you can, you can. It’s your mantra, which you scream with every hit. After the 18th stroke you start sobbing feeling tears in your eyes. It’s too painful, too humiliating. At 20 you cry and he gives you a short break, feeling with his fingers at your pussy, flicking over you clit.   
“Even wetter than before. You’re dripping, greedy slut. Can’t wait to fuck you in a few minutes, watching your luminous, hot, red ass.”  
He goes on and you feel the catharsis a punishments causes. You’re pure, somehow. Small, submissiv and all his. Nothing but him is important anymore. It’s just him left. After the last stroke he leads you to the bed and pulls you in his arms, giving you the perfect space to cry your heart out.   
“You did so well, you are so perfect.” He whispers gently, caressing your back and your hair. “I’m here. I’ve got you, baby. My good, brave girl, such a natural. Seeing you processing the pain was the fucking most beautiful thing I’ve ever watched. Let it out, cry, honey.”   
You sob uncontrollably: “I ... I’m so happy. I feel so pu... pure and soft. Thank you so much for teaching me a lesson.”   
He smiles, wiping your tears away: “Good girl. Such a good girl.”  
Your hands slip to your backside, feeling for your ass.  
“No rubbing, little one. Hands off your ass.” He whispers and you obey.   
It lasts about twenty minutes until you’re back on earth again. You’re deeply relaxed and so very receptive for his gentle hands that can cause so much pain. He doesn’t need long to make you wet again, to make you beg for his cock. You come hard with his fingers on your clit and his hips slapping against your sensitive ass.   
“Tomorrow ...,” he pants, “we’re starting our deep throat lessons.”  
“Yes, please!” You moan, collapsing under another orgasm on the sheets.


End file.
